


The Sound In My Canvas

by Karratran



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Professions AU - Musician - Art student, Prompt - Departure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karratran/pseuds/Karratran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka can only do one thing after having listened to Rin’s music: Paint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound In My Canvas

His finger fiddled on the string, causing the long note to waver into a vibrato, followed by a fast cadence that felt as a racing heart.

Haruka’s soul was enraptured.

The striking music that flowed from the violin in hands of the redhead made his heart clench, and he was certain that if he were a bit more open, he might actually be crying tears of raw emotion.

Unsurprisingly, Haruka wasn’t supposed to be still on campus, his classes had ended an hour ago. But he had stayed behind, making some adjustments to his painting. It still seemed bleak, so he decided to call it a day, go to his dorm and forget about everything until next morning.

However, on his way out of the building, the keen and sinuous notes of a rhapsody reached his ears, and soon, he found himself following the source of the sound.

It wasn’t as if Haruka was musically inclined, but he did listen to instrumental music when he painted, and he was able to recognize the piece. The most complicated parts of the composition, the ones that made him wonder just _how on earth could anyone play that_ , were escaping the classroom, and, as if in a daze, the painter slid open the door quietly.

The waning light of sunset that scattered into the room bounced off the polished surface of the violin and lighted the face of the violinist. The red of his hair made the hues of light seem warmer as it hit the strands.

His world became brighter.

Fast and dissonant turned into tender and soft–a lullaby, and the jerky movements the musician made became slow, but, if possible, freer. The wide grin that had been on his face slowly morphed into a sweet smile that, while it hid his teeth, reflected better what feel crossed his heart.

It was beautiful.

And Haruka forgot how to breathe.

It felt like the quiet notes flowed like water around him, surrounding him, filling his heart. And when a loud gasp forced air into Haruka’s lungs, deep red eyes opened and acknowledged his presence.

The lovely melody came to an abrupt halt and a deep crimson colored the violinist’s face accompanied by the clatter of the bow against the violin’s body.

“Wha- you- how- I mean, when- uh- I-” He spluttered, unable to string a single phrase together.

Haruka smiled, enamored that, even if there wasn’t any coherent word, the redhead’s voice was also music, “It was great,” he barely was able to whisper without his voice breaking.

How do you tell someone you just met that you want to keep looking at them play, that you want to keep watching them be _free_ , that you want to commit to memory their perfection, brand behind your eyelids their beauty, so that you can remember all their colors even in the dead of the night and paint them in all their glory on your canvas, without sounding like a complete creep?

It wasn’t as if Haruka could say that. At least not yet, he didn’t even know the musician’s name.

But all words died on the painter’s throat, not being able to push the air in his lungs through his glottis and provoke his vocal cords to vibrate and produce his voice. Not even being able to move his tongue or open his mouth.

“Th-thank you.”

“You-” he sounded as if he was still whispering, so Haruka cleared his throat and spoke louder, “You can continue, I won’t interrupt anymore.”

The musician’s shoulders tensed and his eyebrows scrunched. “It’s not about interrupting or not, you could have knocked or something!”

“Did I scare you?”

“No!”

“Then, what’s the matter?”

 _Blunt, always blunt,_ his grandmother would have scolded him. His father would have smacked him in the back of the head, good naturedly, and his mother would have snickered. Makoto would have just smiled one of those annoying knowing smiles, prompting Haruka to look away stubbornly.

“I don’t like it when people outside my professors listen to me.” The other male muttered. “Especially a person I don’t even _know_!”

He hadn’t expected the sudden outburst or the childishly stuck out tongue that followed the equally childish statement.

So he snickered.

“Nanase Haruka.”

And the redhead’s eyes widened, nearly bulging out of their sockets.

“Ri- Uh… I- Matsuoka. Uh, Rin.”

Haruka refused to leave, so Rin had no choice but to either, ignore him and continue playing– much to his chagrin–or simply try and get some response from his quiet spectator.

The next days–weeks–were the same, it became their ritual.

It wasn’t as if Haruka had much time, he had to finish his own projects and do his homework, but he couldn’t spend a day away from Rin, away from the heartfelt sounds.

And he found he didn’t mind.

His sketchbooks began to fill with abstract notions of what Haruka felt translated into music–Rin’s music—, doodles of undulations–sound waves–and solid curves of violins, intricate draws of Rin playing his violin, Rin applying rosin to his bow, Rin smirking, Rin talking, Rin with his eyes closed and breathing in deeply–looking ethereal–while standing in the middle of a brightly lit classroom, Rin Rin Rin _Rin_.

Rin was majoring in Music, and was attempting to get the attention of some really important scouts from other countries that looked around in their University. Rin wanted to be known worldwide.

Haruka told him about his desire to simply draw, paint, express himself without boundaries or limitations, and be himself.

It struck a nerve in Rin that Haruka wasn’t ambitious, but he let it go, because it was more important to him to share his time with the other male in peace than fighting.

Weeks became months, and Rin started to improvise, playing nameless tunes and songs, whatever felt okay with his heart, as long as he was alone. Because, contrary to general belief, Rin still kept to himself the most personal pieces he played, those that resonated within his chest and set his heart ablaze.

However, Rin was getting very used to Haruka’s presence, and one day, although he was perfectly aware of Haruka having entered the classroom, Rin played one of those private little tunes.

It started slow, flourishing quiet notes that soon grew into stark violin cries in a violent tempo, and then an abrupt change to soft again, it was an ever changing piece, immersing both of them in Rin’s little world of fantasies conjured by the vivid song of the violin. It was almost as if they could see the colors, the shapes, the stories behind each note, each heated stroke, and Rin’s own heart as the metronome, making the tempo gain speed. It was a journey.

And when it finished, a round of startling claps made them nearly jump out of their skins.

“It was fantastic! You have to take the official audition!” The unknown man said in a chipper voice. He had most likely entered the classroom, just like Haruka had several months ago, while Rin, and now him, were engrossed with the music. The accent the man had also was a giveaway that he was foreign.

Something didn’t sit well on Haruka’s heart.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Rin squeaked. The bright red that started to fill his cheeks was lovely, but it only made other boy feel worse.

As if he had drank a liter of lava. Or a cup of acid. Or maybe bleached his brain.

“I am a scout for the Australian National University’s School of Music. I’ve been roaming around this campus and, so far, I hadn’t heard anyone play at your level. You are a prodigy.” The smile on the man’s face was bright–too bright–and Haruka wanted to hurl.

It only got way worse when Rin’s eyes filled with tears of joy.

With a tight grip on his stylus, Haruka decided it was better to frown and glare at his drawing, rather than show Rin how much it had affected him.

Haruka faltered. _What…?_

Trembling hands or clouding eyes were not a good idea when you were trying to shove your stuff into your backpack and flee a classroom. But Haruka managed to do just that, and he ignored the confused calls from Rin.

The undignified sob that left his lips went unheard as he slammed closed the door of his dorm room and curled against it. He was definitely glad he had the dorm to himself. That way he could riot for whatever time he wanted and no one would hear–nor care.

He fell asleep against the door. And the canvas for an important project he had to present the next day stood unfinished on the easel.

Insistent banging against the door rattled Haruka awake. His whole body ached for sleeping in such a bad position, and he definitely didn’t want to open his eyes, what little light filtered into the room and through his eyelids was enough to hurt his puffy eyes and the salty residues of last night’s tears were also painful against his eyelids. Still he stood up and yanked open the door.

“Yeah, yeah. What?” He hissed in an irritated tone with his eyes closed.

Silence. One, two, three seconds. Fo-

“…Haru?”

_Ah, shit. It’s Rin._

“What’s wrong?” Of course he was concerned, Haruka had bolted out of the classroom without saying a word. And he probably looked like he had been hit by a train.

As Haruka opened his mouth to try to snark his way out of the situation, Rin held his face with one hand and pressed him out of the doorway so that he could enter the dorm with the other, and the protest died in his throat.

His eyes stung sharply when he opened them in surprise. But they stung more when he finally saw Rin.

He was _glowing_. And even if his expression said concern, everything else about him screamed utter happiness.

Haruka’s heart clenched painfully.

His eyes watered again. Partially because they stung, and partially because he was sad.

_…but why?_

Why should he be sad, or angry? Rin dream was finally becoming true. He would travel and become famous and he’d live his dream. He would be happy.

And Rin was going to leave Haruka behind, without a single glance back.

“Ah, shit. Wait, no, don’t do that. _Haru_ , stop,” Rin begged in alarm.

You’re leaving, you’re leaving, you’re leaving me, you-

“I’m not going anywhere ye- Huh? What?!”

_Had Haruka said that out loud?_

_…_

_Huh?_

Maybe thirty seconds passed in which the only thing they could do was stare at each other’s eyes with incredulity.

“…I don’t want you to go,” Haruka murmured, “and leave me alone.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Rin replied.

More silence.

“…But you won’t forget about your dream for me. And I don’t want you to.”

The pain that crossed Rin’s face made Haruka regret the dejected tone he used.

Rin rested his head on the painter’s shoulder, and clutched at him. “…No, I…” He took a deep breath, “I wanted you to come with me. I know you don’t want to go big, that you don’t want to be known, and you don't have to, but I want you with me.”

Haruka had tensed all the while Rin said it.

Go? With Rin?

“I don’t know English.”

His heart was beating so fast and so hard, he wondered if Rin could hear it.

What brought an end to the heavy silence was Rin’s laughter. Bright and light. And Haruka realized _just how much_ in love he had fallen with this idiot.

It was Rin’s music that brought him in, it was Rin’s smile that mesmerized him, it was Rin who, instead of trapping him, released Haruka from the cage of loneliness and stillness. It was Rin who, little by little, made Haruka want to do more. He didn’t acknowledge the change right away, in fact, he didn’t even notice, and it was until now that Haruka realized that, even though he still didn’t care for recognition, he wanted to be known, he wanted to show his art to the world.

It was Rin who brought the sound to his silent life. Color to his colorless life.

Haruka smiled.

And when Rin kissed him–which didn’t surprise him at all–his smile only grew.

His world expanded.

Maybe leaving wasn’t such a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: I edited a few little things, just some grammar horrors I didn't catch before.
> 
> Now, should I write a second part of this...?


End file.
